


A Kiss to Build a Dream on

by alliebird58



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-05-06 06:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5406296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alliebird58/pseuds/alliebird58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A set of one shots, all about various Merintosh kisses!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve started a series of one-shots, which will be completely unrelated, all about Merintosh kisses! This is really for nobody’s benefit but my own, so I can practice getting comfortable writing these scenes (and maybe, possibly, eventually, writing smut. Though that’s a way off). But I suppose y’all can read the little bits I write, so that’s something. 
> 
> This first one is a little bit feelsy, with a healthy dose of cheese.
> 
> Enjoy my lovelies!

The first time he kisses her, it is late in the evening. 

There had been a gathering of some sort; neither really remembered what it had been for - truth be told the people of the clans would look for any excuse to get together and drink. Merida and Mac had been circling one another for months now, a continuous game of cat and mouse where one of them would get almost close enough to reach out and the other would withdraw quickly. That night, though, it was different; both had consumed just enough ale to be tiptoeing the line between lowered inhibitions and loosened tongues and sloppiness. 

Merida and the Lord Macintosh had been sitting next to each other for the majority of the evening, chatting eagerly about this or that, sometimes with the company of others, sometimes just the two of them. Merida felt a small twinge of pain shoot through her feet from the long day (her shoes she wore – while soft and pretty – were not the most practical) and Macintosh caught the small grimace cross her face, asking if she was alright, concern lacing through his words. 

She merely waved him off, mentioning she’d been on her feet all day, and before she knew it, she found her feet propped in his lap. Merida knew she should’ve resisted - even half-heartedly - but her whole body was exhausted and she could feel Mac’s thumb begin tracing small circles into her lower thigh and it was soothing in a completely unexpected way. So instead of pushing away or smacking him upside the head for his insolence, she let herself relax, feeling the edges of stress slip away with every swipe of his finger over her leg. 

That was how they ended their night. They were the last two in the great hall, candles burning low and a chime from somewhere in the depths of the castle indicated the lateness of the hour. Somehow Merida had shifted closer to Macintosh through the course of the night, her legs still thrown over his lap, but now she found herself close enough so she comfortably rest her against his shoulder. With his hands still gently working small circles into tired flesh, she felt her eyes drift shut in content. 

Then it was as if the calm that had flooded her body was shut off like a switch. She became aware of just how close her body was to his, could feel his heat warning her, and she shot up to standing so quickly it made her head spin. He was right behind her, hand circling her wrist, to keep her from fleeing.

Quietness eased through the room, an unmistakable stillness that cloaked everything in peace, and in tandem they both felt their breath catch. Mac moved infinitesimally closer, reaching out hesitantly to brush an errant curl from her face. His arms encircled her waist slowly; afraid of her walls shooting back up and feelings retreating behind a fortressed heart. 

Merida felt his breath sweep across her face, warm and gentle, as he whispered, “My queen, may I kiss you?” 

Her heart picked up a blistering pace, eyes blown wide in surprise, and just a little bit of fear, because this was new and completely unexpected, but the butterflies threatening to beat their way out of her belly told her maybe she wasn’t as indifferent to this man as she previously told herself. 

Merida nodded slightly, so much so that Macintosh nearly missed it. But then he is brushing his lips against hers in feather-light caress, soft and gentle in a way nothing in her life had prepared her for. She is wholly unfamiliar with the rampage of emotions running wild through her body.

Mac breaks away first, gazing into her eyes, seemingly looking for something, though Merida hasn’t the slightest idea what. Maybe he’s looking for hesitation, or fear, or a sign that she’s about to haul back and punch him in the throat. But what she sees is a small smile bloom across his face and – not for the first time – her mind is flooded with thoughts of how terribly handsome he is when his face is alight, eyes shining.

He pulls her back to him, pressing his lips to hers once more, but something is different this time. Mac’s first kiss had been testing, cautious and hesitant, but this? This is suddenly months of built up feelings come to the surface all at once. Merida is completely drowning in the unfamiliar actions, and finds herself ramrod straight, arms frozen at her side. Macintosh doesn’t seem deterred, and his lips press insistently against her own, gentle but demanding, coaxing her to respond in kind. He reaches for her hands, guiding her to wind them around his neck. His arms wrap firmly around her waist again, pulling her close, and it’s like she has suddenly forgotten how to pull oxygen into her lungs. Mac presses another small kiss to her lips, and backs off ever so slightly, “Merida, breathe, love, or yer going to pass out.”

That’s all the reminder she needs to suddenly take in a full, shuttering breath of air. She tells herself that she will not dwell on the endearment that slipped from his lips so casually (another thought for another day when she is not in sensory overload, perhaps). Merida’s arms are still twined around his neck, firmly held in place by his strong arms about her, and she leans forward to rest her forehead against his chest. Macintosh’s scent surrounds her, and she hadn’t realized quite how steadying and comforting being in his presence was. Just moments ago he had been the one to send her drifting out to sea in a wave of emotions, and suddenly he was the life preserver keeping her head above the water.

“On a scale of one to ten, yer majesty, what are the odds I’m goin’ to get an arrow loosed into my arse later?” His voice, low and husky in a way that made the butterfly wings start to beat again, was tentative.

“I haven’ decided yet, Lord Macintosh. I assure ye once I come to a conclusion you’ll be the first to know.” He chuckled and released her from his arms, content to see that he hadn’t somehow shocked his queen into an early grave.

He turned towards her, offering his arm, “May I escort milady back to her chambers?”

“Ye dolt, I don’ need an escort to walk me around me own castle…though I suppose I canno’ stop ye from walkin’ with me.” She spoke as a shy smile worked its way across her face, and he pulled her in to lace her hand around his arm.

When they reached her chamber doors, Merida pulled away, attempting to make a hasty retreat, but instead he pulled her back. Mac took her hand in his own, bowing low and placing a burning kiss on her wrist.

“Sleep well, milady,” he murmured, before turning and retreating down the corridor.

When Merida finally manages to crawl into her bed, her last distant thought was that while the Lord Macintosh was well and truly a pain in her arse, she enjoyed the feel of his arms around her more than she’d ever admit out loud.


	2. Anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of my practice writing kisses! I absolutely, completely LOVE writing about these two silly Scots when they’re angry at each other, and this was ridiculously fun.

The days Merida is required to conduct full court sessions are trying, to say the least. That is when she ends up channeling every single anger management technique her mother has taught her into the span of two hours. Her temper is normally fine for the first while, but eventually she can feel the ends of her patience begin fraying, slowly but surely. And that’s on a good day.

Today is far, far from good.

She’s been in a foul mood since the sun broke the horizon and it seems her normally wavering patience has up and vanished completely because they’re not even 35 minutes into conducting court and she wants to take her bow and arrow to every smart-mouthed lord and council member in the room. With no small amount of effort, she makes it through the lord’s remarkably stupid complaints about this and that, and is finally told she’ll be meeting with some locals, to hear their comments and concerns. Merida exhales deeply, blowing a stray curl out of her eyes. Court lords and her stuffy advisors are one thing, but she always tries to show her best face to her people, because if anybody deserves her at her best, it’s them.

So she counts to ten and fixes a smile on her face.

Everything is going smoothly, and her tattered patience is surviving fairly well until the large doors at the end of the hall swing open, and in waltzes the Lord Macintosh, and suddenly every ounce of anger comes flooding back into her body as she watches him saunter his way towards the dais and kneel before her. She inhales deeply, trying to keep her temper in check.

“Lord Macintosh, I’m glad to see you’ve returned safely from the raiding party,” she grits out through clenched teeth, and he raises his head to look at her.

“Aye, is that so, milady?” He rises and cocks his head at her slightly, smirk plastered to his stupid face and suddenly Merida’s restraint is just gone and red colors her vision.

“Oh, aye Lord Macintosh, for if ye’d gone off and gotten yerself killed there would be no way for me to tan yer hide for deliberately disobeying yer queen’s orders,” her tone grows more stinging and harsh with every word, rising to a crescendo until her voice carries through the entire hall. She realizes that the room is deathly quiet and the many occupants are all staring at her, slack-jawed, and she needs to clear them out now before they all get to witness a very nasty side of their queen.

“Everyone give me and the Lord Macintosh the room,” she yells firmly to the onlookers, and it seems as if no one can leave quickly enough; people drop the papers they were holding, as they all whisper to one another and hurriedly make their way from the room until it’s just Merida and Macintosh.

She storms the length of the room until she is standing in front of him, eyes blazing, and she can see the stony anger set into his own eyes. They’re glaring at each other with blatant hate, and Merida breaks first.

“What in the name of seven hells did ye think ye were doin’? I specifically told ye that I needed ye here with me. Who gave ye permission to hare off and do what ye pleased?” She’s practically breathing fire at this point, and she can see the rage building within his body.

“No one, milady,” he manages to get out.

“Exactly! So why did ye do it? What came over ye?” while Merida is still incredibly, spectacularly angry she also genuinely wants an answer to this question.

“The men were nervous about the raid, and I couldn’ in good conscience let ‘em go alone.”

“That’s all well and fine but I needed ye here, ye great prat. Ye disobeyed yer queen’s orders without so much as a second thought! I should beat ye to a bloody pulp for yer insolence.” She steps closer to him, nose filling with the unique scent of him, and breathing in the anger that’s rolling off of him in waves.

“I went where I was needed most, and I would disregard yer orders again in a heartbeat.” He growls low in his throat, steps closer still until he and she are nary a foot apart.

“Yer a great bloody bastard, Mac, burn in hell,” Merida spits out, taking a step back in attempt to break away from him. Suddenly he’s grabbed her arm and is swinging her around to press her against his body, catching her lips with his.

His kiss is angry, all rough, biting teeth and harsh breathing. Merida throws herself into the kiss without hesitation, tongue running along his bottom lip until he grants her access to his mouth and then it’s as if they’re battling for dominance; tongues and teeth and fierce kisses that leave her just the slightest bit unsteady on her feet.

This is certainly not the first time one of their verbal spars has turned physical. They’ve been courting for almost a year now and they’ve both discovered that this is a much more pleasant way of relieving built up anger.

Her imbalance quickly becomes a non-issue as she finds herself slammed back into the wall, trapped between the coolness of the stone and the hard, firm lines of his body. Mac breaks away harshly from her lips, only to press a burning trail of kisses along the column of her neck. She’s digging furrows into his back with her nails, scratching until she hears him hiss out a breath. Merida gives a little triumphant cheer in her head, until suddenly his mouth is at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and then he’s biting at her pulse point – hard – and damn it if she doesn’t forget how to breathe.

One of his hands is braced on the wall at the side of her head, and the other grabs at her hip, pulling her body closer to his until there’s not a sliver of space between them. He presses against the small of her back until she’s arching into his body, and she realizes that he’s still biting and sucking at that spot on her neck and she is absolutely dizzy with want. Merida fists a hand through the hair at the back of his neck, hauling his mouth from her throat.

“Mac, if ye leave a mark there I will smash out every single tooth in yer head,” she hisses, forcing his mouth back to hers, pulling so hard they clack their teeth together uncomfortably. They’re both undeterred by the brief pain and quickly resume their burning game of give and take.

Eventually they both break apart, the need for air too great, and the sound of labored breathing fills the great room. Merida leans her head back on the wall behind her, and Mac’s own head falls to her shoulder as they desperately try to bring oxygen back into their lungs. He finally pulls back after several seconds, and Merida can still see the anger in his eyes, but it’s not nearly as intense as before. She takes in his disheveled appearance – lips swollen, hair a mess, with red scratch marks down his chest and back – and she feels a little smug with herself. (though she’s sure her appearance hasn’t fared much better)

“I’m still angry at ye,” she tells him matter-of-factly, and he just grins and places a soft kiss to her lips.

“Aye, well, I’m not exactly pleased with ye either, so I suppose we’re even.” She has to smile slightly at that as she reaches out to pull him into a warm hug. 

“I’m glad yer safe, Mac. Even if ye are a complete dolt who doesn’ know how to take orders,” He pulls her tighter into the embrace, outright laughing this time.

“I will always come back to ye, my queen. No matter how many times I ride away, I’ll always come back just as swiftly.” Merida feels her heart melt (just a little bit) at the goopy, silly words he spins and feels her resolve to stay angry weaken just the slightest. While she would certainly prefer to never have him leave her side (she hates to admit it, but she’s come to rely on his insights and support), she knows the truth of the matter is he is an incredible fighter, and the people trust him to lead their battles. It’s what he’s good at, and she trusts him inexplicably.

So maybe her anger towards him and the whole situation wasn’t quite as justified as she originally thought. She pulls out of his embrace and takes a breath to tell him that, offer a tentative apology. But when Merida glances at him she sees fire of a completely different nature starting to build in his eyes, a sudden heat flares through her body as he presses a searing kiss to her mouth.

She’ll tell him that later.


	3. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An early morning ride and a father looking after his daughter.

The flagstone tiles are cold against her bare feet, a startling contrast to how her body feels like it is being engulfed by flames. It's quiet, eerily so, except for the quiet drumming of rain against the roof. She knows that she shouldn't be out - not at night, especially not with a cold spring rain, and definitely not when she's been as sick as a dog the last few days. 

But Merida finds that her body, while still sick, is protesting being in bed any more. Maybe it's the fact that she feels like she hasn't stopped moving in weeks, nay, months, and her body can't take the idleness. Maybe it's the weather, the soft pelting of rain bleeding through the roof and into her veins, making her alive with energy. Maybe it's the knowledge of what the day will bring. She's not sure, but the restlessness compels her to get out. 

So she sneaks through the castle in her warmest dress. Her wool cloak is draped over her arm, shoes clutched in her hand. It has to be close to two in the morning, judging by how low the flames are burning in the wall sconces. Shadows draw long down the hallway, draping everything in a dark, inky spell. 

It isn't long before Merida reaches the castle gate, and she slips into her shoes, throws the cloak around her and fixes the hood securely atop her head. The rain is coming down in a steady rhythm, and the wind gusts every once in a while, making the drops dance suddenly to and fro. She makes a dash for the stables, trying to avoid getting soaked, but her legs feel like jelly and her chest aches and a fever is still burning through her, painting her cheeks in an unforgiving red that clashes with her hair. 

Merida reaches Angus' stable, and undoes the latch with a labored breath before leaning heavily on her trusted steed. She nuzzles her face into the warm fur of his neck, and she can feel a hot snort of air blow her hair as Angus nudges her shoulder once.

She takes her time saddling Angus, stopping every few minutes to lean on his body, because even this simple task is draining her of energy. But it gets done, and she swings up into the saddle and they’re both off a brisk trot before Merida has time to convince herself that she should really be back in bed. 

The closer they get to Merida’s chosen destination, the more restless she gets. She finds herself unable to get comfortable in the saddle and starts fidgeting, which earns her a glare from Angus, as he huffs out a breath and shakes his head at her. She just knows that she’s getting a scolding from her horse, and the absurd thought of Angus lecturing her about staying still and not riding while battling a fever brings a watery giggle to her throat. 

But the humor dies in an instant when Merida spies her destination just off in the distance. The rain is only coming down in a light mist so she yanks the hood off her head as she lowers herself gently to the ground. She takes Angus’ reins in hand, and they both walk slowly, solemnly, towards the headstone in the distance. 

It’s hard for Merida to believe that her father has been gone for almost four years now.

Gods. 

Four years. 

Every single day without him still hurts. Merida knows she’s blessed to have her Mother and she thanks the gods any chance she gets for her Ma’s steadying presence. But they’re too much alike, her and her Ma. And by too alike she means stubborn. They’re both bullheaded and unmoving, which may have lead to a great deal of their animosity when she was a younger lass. 

But her Da was her biggest supporter in life; her greatest champion. He was the one who taught her how to shoot, to ride, to fight, to lead. He was able to make her laugh when all she wanted to do was scream, and made her smile when she was too near tears. Merida knows she took her Da’s warmth and comfort for granted, and her chest aches when she thinks about the fact that she’ll never get to hug him again. He never got to help her navigate the tumultuous waters of being a new ruler. 

He’ll never know how much she misses him. Or how much she wants him to be proud of the queen she’s become. 

Merida’s legs are unsteady as she walks towards the headstone, and her steps become slower and slower the closer she gets. She has made it a point, every year, to come to her father’s final resting place on the anniversary of his death; this ritual hasn’t gotten any easier, and she suspects it never will. There is always a solemn ceremony commemorating the late King Fergus on this day, followed by many, many rounds of ale in his name. The whole thing leaves everyone in the family exhausted, and nobody more so than Merida. So she always has this one private moment. It’s bracing and allows her to keep pushing through when really all she would like to do is sleep. 

She lets Angus wander around, content to munch on grass, while she situates herself on a blanket in front of the giant rock which bears her father’s name and just talks. 

She tells her father all about her life. She tells him about her Ma, how she’s still as beautiful as always and just as high spirited as when he was alive. She tells him about the boys and all the mischief that three twenty-something-year-old boys can cause (especially the incident involving the frogs in the dining hall – she knows her Da would have absolutely loved seeing the look on cooks face when instead of unveiling a perfectly roasted boar, fifty some odd frogs jumped out). She tells him about her own life, how she’s grown up. How she hopes he is proud of her. 

Merida doesn’t know how long she stays there talking, but she realizes that the horizon off in the distance is starting to glow a pale dusky rose color and knows she should probably turn back for the castle before anyone sends out a search party for her. She stands and her knees protest the movement. Between the rain and the sickness her bones ache, and she belatedly realizes that sitting on the cold, unforgiving ground might not have been such a good idea. She tries to stretch, turning until her she hears the bones in her lower back crack once, and draws up short. 

There’s a figure standing just at the edge of the clearing, leaning against a tree, arms crossed as they study her. Merida tilts her head to the side, screwing up her eyes against the fading darkness to try and discern who’s watching her. There’s a second where her heart gives a giant thump in her chest as the person starts walking towards her, and Merida realizes that she doesn’t even have her riding knife with her. She’s utterly defenseless. 

But the panic fades nearly as quick as it comes when she recognizes the familiar swish of Macintosh’s cloak and the outline of his body. 

“How long have ye been watchin’ me?” she asks, and her voice is hoarse from sickness and silence. 

He shrugs in response as he draws closer to her. “A while, I suppose.” 

They both just stare at each other, motionless, as the darkness begins to recede and a cool mist swims around them. 

Until he holds out his arms to her and she practically melts into his embrace. He wraps her up tight in his arms, tugging his warm fur cloak so it covers her as well. Her arms find their way around his waist, and she burrows into the warm skin of his neck. 

She didn’t realize how badly she needed a hug until just this moment. 

He presses soft, sweet kisses to her forehead as his hands glide up and down her back, tugging her closer into his warmth, and she feels the silly butterflies in her stomach begin to dance. 

“Ye shouldn’ be out here in this cold, Mer,” his voice is quiet and steady against her ear and she pulls herself just a fraction of a bit closer to his body. 

“Aye, I know. How did ye find me?” She sounds like death warmed over, and her head starts pounding just the bit. 

Macintosh takes her shoulders gently, pulls her back so he can look at her, and though his mouth is set in a firm line, his eyes are warm and comforting and hold just a bit of concern around the edges. “Mer, ye make this trip every year. I’ve noticed. And when I went to yer bedchambers and there wasnae hide nor hair of ye, the list of places ye might have run off to was limited to here. I know ye too well, my sweet girl.” 

She gives him a tiny half grin, and her face flushes for reasons completely unrelated to her sickness. 

“Did ye tell him about us?” Mac asks her quietly and her brows furrow. 

“Tell him? Tell who?” 

“Yer father, of course. I know ye sit here and talk to him.” Merida turns to look back at the looming headstone, unable to find words. 

Of course she had spoken of Macintosh. He was the rock that supported her, her new champion, the man who had promised to love her until his dying breath. Merida figured that her father deserved to know about the new man who had worked his way firmly into her heart. And once she hesitantly began to speak, words had flowed out of her in a rush – from their first kiss, to the early, uneasy days of their new courtship, to the terrible day she had to watch Mac get run through with a sword and nearly die before her eyes – she spoke in such a torrent of words that when she finally got done she was light headed and dizzy with relief. 

‘Aye, I did. Tell him about us. Seemed an important bit o’ information to mention.” 

Macintosh chuckles, grabs her hand and pulls her towards her father’s headstone. They stand there, hand in hand, as the sun begins its ascent over the horizon. 

“Yer father would be so proud of ye, Mer.” She whips her head to look at Mac, startled by his words. He doesn’t look at her though, just continues to stare at the giant stone commemorating his beloved king. 

“Do ye really think so?” Her voice is so quiet, and she sounds so hopelessly unsure to her own ears, that she instantly wishes the words back. 

Mac glances at her, and a smile tugs at the edge of his mouth. His free hand finds it’s way to her chin, tilting her face upwards. 

“I know so. He would be proud of everythin’ ye’ve accomplished. And he would be proud of the beautiful woman ye’ve become.” 

Merida feels the sting of tears at the edge of her eyes, and shuts them to prevent the tears from falling over. But when she opens her eyes again, Mac is right there, close enough that she can smell the oil that he uses in his hair and whatever soap he uses. It’s comforting and steadying and she feels completely safe in his gaze, which is something she truly never expected. 

“I’m proud of ye, Mer. You are remarkable.” 

The words are so quiet, whispered against her lips in a tone so soft that she feels them more than hears them. And then his lips press against hers, gently, so gently, that she feels like her heart is going to break and she wants to sob and sing and fall apart in his arms all at the same time. 

His hands cradle her head as if she’s the most precious thing to ever exist, and her body practically melts into his. 

But she’s sick. And the lack of oxygen makes her remarkably dizzy in record time. So when she pulls away, laboring for breath, Mac’s strong hands wind through her hair and he kisses every single inch of skin he can find – forehead, eyelids, cheeks, jaw, neck – Merida has never felt such tenderness in her life. 

For the most part, their love is loud and passionate and occasionally reckless. And they both generally like it that way. But this is different – softer and sweeter and Merida feels a warm glow overtake her body. 

She feels well and truly loved. 

It is a kind of bliss and content that she hasn’t felt in a very, very long time. 

Finally, after minutes or hours or days, Mac’s lips leave her skin and he tugs her into another great, warm hug. “Let’s get ye home Mer. You’ve a long day ahead of ye and ye should probably catch a few more hours of sleep.” She nods her agreement and lets him help her onto Angus’ saddle. 

He kisses her hand once, and she can feel the I love you that he whispers into the soft skin of her wrist before pulling away and climbing onto his own mount. 

As they ride away, Merida can’t help but wonder if her father would approve of the love that she’s found with Macintosh. Certainly her father knew he was a more than capable leader. But would he have thought Mac capable of keeping her heart? 

She doesn’t know for sure, but with the sun rising over a clear horizon and the wind quietly brushing her face, she thinks she knows the answer. 

\-----

_The afterlife, Fergus thinks, is not all it’s cracked up to be._

_Sure, there’s peace and tranquility and no pain…but it’s a lonely affair._

_He misses his family dearly. Desperately. Misses his beautiful wife and the four children he was forced to leave behind. He always aches to know if they’re well._

_Those who have moved on don’t often get a chance to peer into the life they left behind. Most think it’s too painful, too depressing, to see everyone still living. Fergus agrees, but every once in a while, he has to make sure his family is all right._

_And he loves the one day a year where his little lassie comes and sits with him and tells him about everything he’s missing._

_So he listens to Merida ramble on for hours about anything and everything. She talks about Elinor and all the trouble that the triplets are causing (Merida says that her Ma has more gray hair than ever – most of them caused by some hair-brained scheme the boys have come up with – and Fergus has absolutely no trouble believing that whatsoever)._

_But the year Merida comes to his grave and admits – quietly and reluctantly – that she’s finally accepted a suitor, Fergus nearly loses his mind._

_And when she hesitantly mentions the name Cothric Macintosh, well, that shocks him so much his heart damn near starts beating again._

_He listens as words fall from Merida’s lips in a cascade, true and unchecked, about everything that the last year has brought. A first kiss late one night in the dining hall, uncertainty and nervousness in her first ever real courtship, how much Macintosh supports her and challenges her and does his best to keep her happy._

_And then she gets to the part about a battle and a sword and Macintosh being gravely injured and Fergus is surprised – shocked beyond words – to see tears swimming in his little girl’s eyes as she says softly, “I nearly lost him Da…I don’ know what I’d do without him.”_

_And it’s like a lightning bolt hit him._

_His little princess – his Merida – has fallen in love._

_She never says the words out loud; Fergus suspects there are some things his headstrong daughter would never say, even to her father’s grave. But he sees it, knows it’s there, just beneath the surface of her skin._

_It’s magnificent and terrifying, all at once._

_Fergus thinks on what he knows of the young Lord Macintosh, and comes up short. He’s a skilled warrior, a great leader, respected and admired by his troops and his people. But Fergus knows next to nothing about the lad’s heart, and even less about the boy’s intentions towards his daughter._

_He thinks it’s probably for the best that he’s moved on from the land of the living, because he’s sorely tempted to go beat the young Macintosh over the head for even daring to think he’s good enough to be let near Merida._

_But then there’s a rustle off in the distance and Fergus realizes that Macintosh is standing off, watching Merida with what Fergus can only say is utter reverence._

_And when Macintosh pulls Merida into his arms, and breathes quiet words into her hair, words that make her eyes light up and a smile tug at her lips, Fergus realizes the lad is just as besotted with Merida as she seems to be with him._

_What a fix._

_It takes less than no time for the two of them to be caught up in a romantic embrace, and Fergus doesn’t ever want to have those images fixed in his mind, dead or otherwise. Forever is an awfully long time to have a mental picture of some lad sticking his tongue down Merida’s throat._

_They make their exit soon enough, though, and Fergus can’t help but watch as Macintosh helps Merida into her saddle, presses a kiss to her knuckles and says I love you with such honesty that Merida practically starts glowing._

_It’s magnificent._

_And all of a sudden, any worries Fergus had about the loud-mouthed, stubborn Macintosh boy holding his daughter’s heart are gone. With some sadness, he realizes that he’s no longer the only man in Merida’s life. But if he can’t be there, Macintosh seems to be doing a sporting job of it._

_His daughter could not have picked anyone better._

_Fergus always knew she was going to be just fine. And Cothric Macintosh seemed to worship the ground she walked on (not that she deserved anything less of course)._

_So he sends his beautiful lassie a kiss on the wind that catches her hair, and he hopes she can feel what he’s saying._

_“You’ve done so well. I’m so proud. Be happy, my girl. Be happy and be loved.”_

_He knows she will be ok._


End file.
